


Free Time and Other Mysteries

by argentum_ls (LadySilver)



Category: Shazam! (2019)
Genre: Gen, Gift Fic, Hobbies, Shazamily (DCU), Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28145082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilver/pseuds/argentum_ls
Summary: Now that Billy has found his biological mother and closed that chapter of his life, all he wants to do is explore the new chapter of being a superhero. Too bad he's still a kid, and kids are supposed to haveinterests.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 43
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Free Time and Other Mysteries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Steelneko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steelneko/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!
> 
> Thanks to idelthoughts for brainstorming, beta reading, and helping me get the story back on the rails when it kept trying to run away.

For all the abilities he’d gained with the speaking of a single word, Billy still had to ask permission from teachers to use the bathroom, do homework, and go to bed when told. It wasn’t fair. And it doubly wasn’t fair that there were people in charge of deciding if he was doing those things right.

Such as the social worker sitting in the living room

“…to see how he’s settling in,” she explained. Billy hadn’t caught her name, nor did he care. Social workers were all the same. After a few, they all started to look the same too. This one had on a baggy floral print blouse and jeans. Chunky bracelets and necklace almost distracted from the heavy bags under her eyes. His gaze skipped past the rest of the details and focused on the tablet she carried, as if he could hope to read it from this angle and distance. That tablet, he knew, had his whole history on it, and would be where his future got decided.

Rosa and Victor nodded. Neither of them looked worried—though why should they? With six foster kids in the house, and who knew how many who’d been through the house before that, they had a lot of practice dealing with social workers who stopped in for unannounced welfare checks. 

Billy, however, _was_ worried. He stuck close to the wall on the landing of the stairs, careful to peek around the corner just enough for him to see the goings on in the living room without anyone there seeing him. Since he’d moved in with them, Rosa and Victor had done nothing except extend understanding and forgiveness for his many and constant missteps, yet Billy knew no one’s patience was infinite. His case worker who’d arranged this placement for him had made it clear that this was Billy’s last chance in a normal home. At any time, Rosa and Victor could decide that Billy had pushed them too far and that they no longer wanted to deal with the problems he brought them.

Maybe this time.

The social worker squinted at her screen, then looked up. “There haven’t been any issues with school attendance in several weeks and his teachers report that he’s passing all his classes.” She paused long enough for Victor to nod in agreement that this information was true. “He hasn’t had any reported run-ins with the police, either.” Rosa nodded at this fact and sat up straighter as if accepting a compliment.

“He had a few rough days settling in,” Rosa explained. “That’s all. We knew he’d fit right in here.”

The social worker made a note on the tablet. “And how does he spend his free time?”

“Well,” Victor started. Then he stopped, his brow creasing in thought. “He and one of our other foster sons, Freddy, have become close friends.” Frowning, he appealed to Rosa for help, because everyone knew that wasn’t an answer to the question.

“He gets along with all his brothers and sisters,” Rosa supplied. “Billy’s always off with one or more of them.”

“Doing…?” the social worker prompted.

 _Fighting crime, mostly,_ Billy wanted to say. _Sometimes we have to be happy to fly around looking for crime to fight, and sometimes we just hang out in the lair and talk about the bad guys we fought before._ With effort, he refrained from bursting down the stairs to explain all this. His foster parents didn’t know that all their foster kids had become Philadelphia’s newest superheroes.

“What do any kids do when they hang out?” Victor deflected. “Watch TV … play video games …” He trailed off, as if aware that a lot of adults thought those were bad answers to question of how kids spent their free time. “He spends a lot of time in his room.”

The social worker cleared her throat and made another mark on her tablet. “Does he have any hobbies?”

Victor and Rosa both opened their mouths to answer and shut them again. They shifted on the couch, and Billy knew they’d joined hands, seeking support with one another to get them through not having an answer that they felt they should. Of all the foster parents he’d had, they were the most casually affectionate: holding hands with each other, hugging whichever person was close enough to grasp, kisses dropped onto foreheads. Weeks after moving in, the affection still weirded him out. But he also had to admit he liked it … and he didn’t want to lose it.

Careful to avoid the creaky step, he retreated up the stairs to his room. He didn’t want to hear his foster parents flounder their answer; didn’t want to hear their discomfort with how little they knew about him. They should have _some_ sense of who he was by now, shouldn’t they? It didn’t help that he felt like he’d let them down somehow. A good son should be the kind of person parents _could_ brag about — or, at least, answer simple questions about.

~*~

Freddy had his earbuds in and was furiously typing something when Billy entered. He glanced up long enough to verify who had entered the room, then returned to the keyboard, ignoring Billy. His face was flushed and his hair stuck up in a ruffled mess from where he’d been running his hands through it. Whatever he was into had him so excited that he’d knocked his crutch onto the floor and hadn’t bothered to pick it back up again.

“Come on,” Billy said, “let’s get out of here.” Picking up the crutch, he propped it back into place against Freddy’s desk. Then he headed for the window and pushed the lower pane up, looking back to check that Freddy had heard him. A breeze drifted in, cutting the stuffiness of the room and offering a tiny promise of the full wind in his face as he flew over the city. The cold outside raised goosebumps along his arms, but wasn’t a point of concern, because once he changed, temperature extremes no longer bothered him.

“No can do. _Super!_ updated today.” _Super!_ was the name of a website that specialized in news and analysis about superheroes. They’d started as an independent, one person operation, then quickly expanded to having their own YouTube channel and official Discord server. Freddy—Billy had quickly learned—was a top contributor. 

“Can’t it wait?” Billy gestured toward the expanse of crisp blue sky that hung over the skyline of the city.

“Wait?! They have a _whole section_ on us. Us! Everyone wants to know where we came from and why we all showed up at the same time.” Freddy dropped his voice like he was confessing a secret. “There’s speculation that we’re a family of aliens. Someone—not me, definitely not me—may even have dropped a hint that we could be Kryptonian.” Grinning, he typed a response to someone that ended in a string of emojis. “And now the people on the Discord are arguing about what our superhero names are. Some of their suggestions are really wild. Wanna see?” He shoved his chair back enough that Billy could slide in next to him to read the screen if he wanted.

Billy scowled and stayed put. Though he’d tried—and would keep trying—Freddy’s refusal to leave the computer didn’t surprise him. The site was one of Freddy’s lines in the sand; he could be flexible about pretty much every other obligation, especially homework, but when it updated, Freddy wouldn’t do anything until he had every bite of news fully digested and commented on. 

“They can’t be worse at coming up with names than you were,” Billy said.

“Hey! Captain Sparklefingers was a genius stroke.”

“It was some kind of stroke,” Billy agreed, darkly. Of all the names Freddy had come up with, that had to be one of his least favorite. No, ThunderCrack was his least favorite. Definitely ThunderCrack. And sticking a Professor in front of it _did not_ make it better. “Come on. Let’s go to the lair. Why do you even care what those people say about superheros anyway? You _are_ one. You don’t need to be just a fan anymore.”

The keyboard clattered as Freddy’s fingers smashed to a stop. “First of all: I was never _just_ a fan. Do you know how many kids my age read the professional literature? Do you know how many kids my age can _understand_ the professional literature?”

“’Cuz that’s something to brag about,” Billy muttered. There was nothing wrong with being a nerd, but all of Freddy’s superhero enthusiasm struck him as coming awfully close to stalking. It was certainly some kind of obsessive behavior.

“Second: I don’t have to live vicariously through YouTube videos and mass market publications anymore. That doesn’t mean they aren’t still awesome! There’s so much to learn! And a lot of it is stuff we need to know. It’s not like there’s anyone out there who can teach us what our powers are or how to use them.”

As much as he had a good point, Billy wasn’t willing to concede defeat. They could learn about their powers the way they’d been doing: by trial and error. “Whatever. Are you coming, or what?”

Freddy shook his head. “Not today. Go ask one of the others.”

~*~

“Are you kidding?” Eugene asked. He also had his laptop open and his headset on when Billy stuck his head in the door. “We’re just about to start a raid. I can’t bail on my team now!”

“How long is a raid?”

Eugene scowled at him as if Billy had just asked the world’s stupidest question.

“Pedro?” Billy asked, turning his attention to his other foster brother who currently crouched on the floor in the center of the room. He insisted on keeping this space in the room free of any obstacles so he had a ready place to exercise when he couldn’t use the more public areas of the house. Such as right now.

“Haven’t done my workout yet,” Pedro said. He had a weight in one hand and a selection of barbells on the floor around him. His face burned red from exertion, though no sweat yet darkened his t-shirt or pants, so he must have just started. 

“So do it later. Or, skip it.” Billy shrugged dismissively. “It’s not like working out is going to make you stronger in your other form.”

Pedro blinked balefully in response, as if he knew that no matter what he said, Billy wouldn’t get it. Then he pointedly curled his arm, lifting the weight.

~*~

Billy even checked in with Mary who—despite having gone off to Caltech after all—had also learned that her new powers made it possible to get back to Philly if the rest of the family needed her. “Test tomorrow,” she answered. “You know grades come first. Scholarship. Grades. We’ve talked about this.”

They had talked about that, and she’d probably mention it a few more times because she seemed to be under the impression that the others couldn’t possibly know what demands the college life put on her. And, OK, none of them were in college yet, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t use their imaginations. “Yeah, I know,” Billy said. “You’re gonna ace it. Like you always do.”

“Only because I study,” Mary countered.

That left only Darla. Now that Mary had moved out, Darla had the room to herself. For the time being, Rosa and Victor had decided not to open the bed to a new foster kid. Even though Mary had aged out of the system, they wanted her to have a home to come back to on vacations. This left Darla with, effectively, her own room, which she claimed was the third best thing to ever happen to her. When Billy asked what the first two best things were, she’d only smiled mysteriously.

She wasn’t in the room. Dolls sat alone at the table, participating in a silent tea party. They were the only clean thing in site. Glitter sparkled _everywhere_ , as if an art supply store had spilled onto the carpet and walls, and bits of wrapping paper and ribbons lay strewn from one end of the room to the other. It looked like Darla had tried to wrap a present all by herself, and the present had fought her every step of the way. At that, Billy remembered that Darla had gone to a friend’s house for her first overnight birthday party. Hopefully, he thought, she’d subdued the gift first.

That left him by himself. A household filled with superheroes, and all they wanted to do were the completely mundane things they’d done before learning how to fly. 

~*~

None of it made sense. With a word, Billy and all his brothers and sisters gained incredible superpowers, the likes of which most _superheroes_ could only dream: hyperspeed, strength, bullet immunity, the ability to shoot lasers from their fingers. And that wasn’t even a complete list! 

Perhaps, more importantly, they also gained adult bodies. OK, they had to wear stupid costumes on those bodies, and none of them had yet figured out how to take the costumes off, or if they _could_ be taken off at all. But what was important is that anyone looking at them would think they were adults. They could do some good in the world, right a few wrongs, and defend themselves from whatever attacked. And no one questioned whether they were old enough to have the thoughts or opinions they did; no one told them to sit out the important things; no one condescendingly suggested that they were too young to understand what was going on.

So why didn’t the others want to spend more time in their alternate forms? As awesome as Victor and Rosa were as foster parents, Billy didn’t technically need them anymore. He could live in the lair, fight crime instead of wasting his life in school, make his own choices rather than waiting for others to tell him what to do. He was a superhero now; why did he need to explain himself to social workers?

As Billy circled the city, the wind whipped past his face and tugged at his cape. The rushing air swallowed the thwack-thwack-thwack of the flapping fabric. He flew with a fist out, punching his way across the sky. Below him, Philadelphia lay spread out, a grid of streets boxing the groups of buildings that looked flattened from this height. From this height, he couldn’t make out much detail, and he certainly couldn’t see if anyone was breaking a law or in need of help. There was a special kind of wonder in that.

“I don’t need anything else!” he shouted.

A passing goose honked at him with a sound like a game show buzzer. Billy grit his teeth and swerved out of the way, aware that the goose wasn’t commenting on what he’d said while feeling the condemnation to his core.

“I don’t,” he insisted.

A change in the city’s patterns caught Billy’s attention. Where traffic should be flowing through the streets, in one corner of the city, it had all stopped and backed up. Throngs of colored dots, most of them orange, were amassing on one of the blocks. Billy dropped lower. While he’d never seen it from this height, he knew what had to be happening: a hockey game. He’d never been to one before, though he’d watched a few on television. One of his previous foster families had been huge Flyers fans, which left Billy knowing a lot more about the roster and the stats than he’d ever imagined there was to know. And, of course, he’d learned about Gritty. Watching the mascot’s antics had always been the highlight of the games for Billy.

That person felt so distant now, like someone he’d only heard others talk about and hadn’t ever met for himself.

He could go to a game. That might be an interesting way to spend his afternoon. As he descended, he debated the best way to get into the arena. He didn’t have pockets, which meant he didn’t have ready money—not that he’d buy a ticket if he didn’t have to. Maybe he could score a free ticket from someone because he was a superhero. Stadiums did that, right? Being a superhero was like being a celebrity, especially in a city like Philly which was still new to the idea of having their own hero. Or maybe he could change back and sneak in as a kid. He could slip in as part of a group, or possibly pretend he’d gotten lost and his parents were already inside. Security guards ate that kind of thing up. Then at least there’d be some advantages to still having a kids’ body.

As he dropped lower, faces started turning up towards him. Someone in the crowd waved at him. He was too far away yet, and the wind was too loud, for him to hear if anyone was shouting for him, but the news of his approach was spreading. Sneaking in was off the table, so hopefully he could get that superhero discount.

“It’s him!” someone shouted.

Before Billy’s boots touched the ground, a swath of the orange-and-black wearing fans broke from the rest of the crowd to swarm into the space around him. He grinned, his mood immediately improved, and greeted the people with a double thumb’s up.

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” A new person—a blonde woman wearing a black jersey and jeans, her hair pressed flat under a black woolen cap—pushed her way through the throng. She had a phone extended in her hand, and she looked like she was old enough to be in college at least. “Hi, I’m Aimee F. with _Super!_ , the website about all things superhero. Could I ask you a few questions?”

With a greeting like that, Billy couldn’t help but stand taller, his shoulders back. As much as he loved all the other parts of having powers, this part was pretty cool, too. People loved him; they looked at him with adoring eyes and acted as if the recognition he gave them was the best thing that had ever happened to them. They thanked him and celebrated what he’d done to help them, and sometimes they still insisted on giving him gifts or money—which he was always happy to accept.

He was on the verge of suggesting that he’d be happy to trade a few questions for a ticket to the game when Aimee F. pressed ahead. She aimed her phone at him and offered a reassuring wink from the other side.

“So, let’s start with the most pressing question on everyone’s minds. There are no fewer than a dozen different polls running on various media platforms _right now_ with people weighing in. What should we call you?”

“Sir Zaps-a-lot!” one of the crowd members supplied.

Someone else shouted. “Are you kidding? ZAP-tain America! That’s the best one.” 

“Captain Marvel!” a third person supplied, which was immediately met with several other people booing.

At this rate, they’d cover every name Freddy had thrown onto YouTube when he uploaded his videos, none of which Billy approved of. He’d tried to talk Freddy into coming up with names that weren’t so silly, only to be met with Freddy insisting that “We can name ourselves _anything_ , and you really want boring? Do you really think Superman would have called himself that if he’d picked his own name out? What about Wonder Woman?”

Billy couldn’t pretend to know as much about superheroes as Freddy did, but he was pretty sure both those heroes _had_ chosen their own names. Even if they hadn’t, their names being boring made no difference in how popular they were or how cool their powers were. And the Shazam powers were the coolest.

“Well, the name I use is…” He trailed off because the name he used when thinking about himself also happened to be the one name he couldn’t say. The last thing he needed was to transform into Billy Batson in front of everyone. “What I mean is, there is a lot of potential…” He scrunched his face in frustration; it was hard to miss Aimee’s eyes beginning to glaze over. All these weeks since he’d gotten his powers and he still didn’t have a proper and fitting name for himself. “You know what? We’re waiting to see what the people decide before announcing anything!” 

“That sure could be interesting,” Aimee chirped. “Get those votes in, _Super!_ fans. This may be your chance to name a real life superhero.” Message delivered, she turned her attention and phone back to Billy. Her cheeks had reddened from the chill in the hair. “So, you and your … colleagues—” She stumbled over the word, no doubt because she didn’t know what kind of relationship Billy had with the rest of the superheroes, and on this point, he didn’t know if to correct her. “—have only been in the city for a few weeks. What brought you here?”

Billy frowned. He’d never had much patience for stupid questions. “We live here.”

“Sure.” Aimee sounded nonplussed. “But you could’ve gone to any city in the world. Why did you choose Philadelphia?”

Choose? Billy had never had a choice. He’d lived in Philly as long as he could remember, and he’d spent most of that time planning various ways to leave as soon as he grew old enough. “We’re from here,” he answered.

Aimee’s eyes widened as she caught on. “You were born here? All of you?”

A second later, Billy understood why she was asking. Damn Freddy and his hinting that the superheroes were aliens. Now that the suggestion was out there, people were always going to wonder if it could be true. Maybe it was better to let them think it could be. It’s not like he knew where the original Shazam came from, or where the lair was actually located. Freddy called it a pocket dimension—whatever that was.

“What do you think?” he asked, tipping his chin up in a challenge.

She opened her mouth to respond, then must have thought better of it. “I think we have time for one last question. We’ve found it’s good to humanize the heroes we have the privilege of interviewing. So, tell us, Red, when you’re not out protecting our great city, what’s something you like to do to keep busy?”

This again. Why was everyone so interested in knowing Billy’s hobbies? Why were they all so sure he needed to have some?

An imaginary conversation began to play out in his head.

“I stopped three muggers and prevented a car-jacking last night,” he would say.

“Very nice, but do you play any instruments?” the questioner would respond, gesturing to the selection of strings, woodwinds, and brass they’d brought along for Billy to demonstrate his super sight reading skills with.

Or, “I stopped a super-villain from destroying the downtown and got him locked up so he could never hurt anyone again.”

“I see. What’s your favorite book? There’s been a lot of demand for us to host a book club based on superheroes’ favorites.”

It was dumb. None of those things mattered, not the way cleaning up the streets did.

A horn blaring inside the stadium brought Billy back, and gave him an idea. Thrusting his fists into the air, he discharged two bolts of lightning and shouted, “Hockey!” The crowd around him began to cheer and Billy let loose another volley of bolts. People always liked the dramatic touches.

Aimee touched the screen to flip the camera around to face her and beamed a broad smile into it. “Annnnd, there you have it. Our newest resident superhero is a Flyers’ fan. Now all he needs is to switch his colors to orange and black and come up with a name. Don’t forget to go online and add your vote to the poll about what our heroes should be called.” Shutting the video off, she extended a hand to thank him. In her hand was a card. “Our viewers will love this,” she promised. “If you want some help prepping for other interviews, my email and cell are listed. Reach out. It’s Aimee F.”

Billy accepted the card, keeping it in his hand because he had no place to put it. He tried to keep his expression neutral, too, as he thanked her back. As well-intentioned as her offer was, it kind of hurt his feelings. He’d done great. People had cheered! He’d answered her questions, and he was pretty sure he’d looked appropriately heroic while he did it. The trick was keeping his shoulders back and chin out. But his interest in catching the game had vanished. Even if the stadium offered free tickets to heroes, he wasn’t in the mood to watch grown men chase a puck around the ice.

He made an effort to smile and wave one last time at his adoring public, then launched himself skyward.

~*~

The social worker had left by the time Billy returned to the house, which was good because he had no desire to have to answer her questions too. He spotted Victor at work in the back yard with some branch clippers and went around to join him.

“Isn’t it too late in the year to be doing yard work,” he asked. Though the grass still had a green tinge, it had thinned like the hair on an old man’s head. Patches of dirty snow clung to the ground and the ground was soft under Billy’s sneakers. He picked his way carefully across the yard so Rosa wouldn’t yell at him later. 

“Billy?” Victor exclaimed, glancing at the direction from which Billy had come. He was wearing a thick sweater, jeans, and a pair of work gloves, which didn’t seem like enough to protect him from the afternoon chill. The day was warm for this time of year, but Billy tugged the hood of his hoodie up over his head to keep his ears from getting any more numb. He really should’ve worn a coat when he left. “I didn’t know you’d gone out.”

“Just taking a walk,” Billy responded. He had “taken walks” a lot recently, and a few times he’d actually taken walks, because he was smart enough to understand that his alibi wouldn’t keep working if he never learned anything about the neighborhood. 

“See anything interesting while you were out? This neighborhood’s pretty old; it’s got a lot of history." Victor looked at Billy as if assessing him. "Are you into history? Architecture? There are all kinds of stories of people remodeling their houses around here and ripping out paneling to find stained glass window some yahoo in the 60s covered over. Pretty cool, right?”

“Yeah, if you’re, like, _old_.” The words came out harsher than Billy meant.

“Ouch!” Victor mock-cried, slapping a hand over his heart. “You wound me, calling me old. I’ll have you know that I won’t be old for at least another twenty years." He squinted in consideration, then added, "‘Old’ is always twenty years older than your age, by the way.”

“Sorry,” Billy mumbled, chastened. “I just … needed to get out of the house.”

Victor tipped his chin, inviting Billy to join him while he trimmed a couple tree branches that had snapped under the weight of the last snow storm and now dangled from the tree, awaiting a strong gust of wind to send them through a window or to tear at the siding on the house. “You were listening in when the social worker was here, weren’t you?”

Billy nodded. Was Victor mad about that? He couldn’t tell. “Yeah.” He shuffled his feet, feeling the crunch of partially frozen grass and the squelch of mud. “I left right after the lady asked you about my hobbies. It seemed like you didn’t know what to say.” Looking up, he caught Victor’s eye in a challenge. “I thought you’d have something to say. I thought you knew me.” He’d been in the house for months, and Victor and Rosa always seemed like they were supportive of the kids’ various activities, so how is it that they still didn’t know anything about Billy? Besides the fact that he’d gone out of his way to hide the most important thing about himself from them.

With a grunt of effort from Victor, the branch snapped off the tree. He flung it to the side of the yard, out of the way, not unlike what Billy feared might happen with him. Then Victor surprised him. “We do know you, Bud. You left too early. If you’d stuck around a couple more minutes, you would’ve heard Rosa tell Ms. Kippley all about the tea parties you and Darla have, and how you let Freddy spend hours talking superheroes with you.” He paused, smiled. “You have no idea what a relief it is that Freddy’s found someone else to share his passion with.”

Billy shuffled again; so much of what Freddy had to say was about themselves that Billy was honestly curious. Usually. Freddy could definitely go overboard, though, especially when he had his updates from _Super!_. He was going to be so surprised when Billy’s interview posted!

“By the way, you know we don’t mind when you leave the house. Everyone needs their space, and we get that. Eight people in that house can get the best of anyone. You just gotta tell us when you head out. Take your phone, and make sure someone knows where you’re going and when you’ll be back. It’s basic safety.”

Billy looked at him, emotionally whiplashed from the speed at which a compliment had turned into a reprimand. “Why does it matter? You know I can take care of myself!” Boy, could Billy take care of himself. He took care of the whole city now. “If I was an adult, you wouldn’t care so much or tell me to check in all the time.”

Victor frowned, like Billy had missed something important. “What do you think would happen if I didn’t come home from work one day, or if Rosa just got in the van and left for hours at a time without telling anyone where she was going?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time that happened,” Billy grumbled. Sometimes people left, like his mom had done. But Victor and Rosa wouldn’t. Not like that.

“And it hurts, doesn’t it? When the person you thought you could count on isn’t where you needed them to be?” Victor waited for Billy to offer a nod of acknowledgment. Unlike a lot of his other foster parents, Victor and Rosa had never shied away from talking about Billy’s past and how he came to be in the system. They said there was nothing to be gained from pretending it hadn’t happened.

Finally, Billy worked through his own urge to push his past down and managed a “yeah.”

“When you’re an adult, people need to know they can count on you. You don’t get a lot of second chances to repair trust or to fix mistakes from letting those who care about you down.” With his free hand, he clapped Billy on the shoulder, then pulled him in for a quick hug. Billy resisted at first, then let his shoulders relax. The lecturing feel of the moment gave way and a warmth rose in Billy that canceled out the chill of the season. “In case you had any doubts: we like you. You’re part of the family. You don’t need to do anything to earn that place here.”

A smile was threatening to break through, so Billy kept his gaze averted. As much as he liked Victor’s sentiments, he didn’t want them to think he was that easy to win over. In fact, making them work for it would make a great hobby, if he said so himself.

Victor had stopped to peer up at the roof where a fallen limb lay half across the shingles and half in the gutter. It was big enough to rip a shingle or two off with it when it finally fell. A single icicle hung off the end, dripping slowly into the yard. Another snow storm, another hard freeze, and that icicle could grow enough to unbalance the branch.

Billy studied the branch with him, for lack of anything else to focus on. “Can I help?”

“Ground’s too soft to get the ladder out.” Victor stomped once as if to demonstrate and his boot sank into the wet earth. “Only way you can help is if you can fly up there.”

Billy’s heart thundered in his ears, but Victor didn’t look at him, didn’t break his contemplation of the branch at all. Did he know? How could he know? Billy’s words escaped him and he managed only an inarticulate, “Uhhh…” in response before Victor shook his head.

“Never mind. I’m sure it’ll fall safely on its own.” Now Victor turned to Billy, his gaze catching and holding Billy’s just a moment longer than it should. Or maybe Billy was just imagining things. Yeah, he was just imagining things.

“We’ve done all we can do out here,” Victor continued. “Why don’t we head inside and warm up with some cocoa? Maybe you can humor this old person a little and tell me a little about what you’ve been up to recently.”


End file.
